A Brand on the Soul
by CastielLovesDean
Summary: Dean finds out that he owes Castiel a souldebt for rescuing him from Hell.  This fic is a request for Lizzy0305, who wrote the 75th review for Cas's Logical Suggestion.  Destiel.   Slash.  AT after S6E4-ish.  Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**A Brand on the Soul**

_By CastielLovesDean_

_A/N: This fic is a request for Lizzy0305, who wrote the 75th review for Cas's Logical Suggestion: Dean finds out that he owes Castiel a souldebt for rescuing him from Hell. The concept is based on the fact that in some cultures, if someone saves your life, you must be their slave until that debt is repaid. That's why Chewbacca's always hanging around Han Solo, in case anyone cares._

_WARNING: Spoilers for season 6! Inspired by Sam and Castiel's exchange in "The Third Man," aka Season 6 episode 3:  
_Cas: When a claim is made on a living soul, it leaves a mark... a brand.  
_Sam: What, like a shirt tag at camp?  
_Me: Or like a red handprint on the shoulder?  
_Cas: *air quotes* "Maybe."  
_Dean: What?  
_Cas: -_-;; I wasn't gonna mention it..._

_That's enough rambling for now. On with the story!_

* * *

Just days after Bobby, Dean, and Castiel fixed what was wrong with Sam – who was now back to his normal, emo self – the Winchester brothers were enjoying a brief respite from their dangerous career/lifestyle. Sam had gotten Dean the DVD box-set of the latest season of Dr. Sexy as a thank-you gift and agreed to watch it with Dean, letting his closet-dork of an older brother explain everything to him. Dean had just finished his third soliloquy about the things that make Dr. Sexy sexy and taken a bite of his Reuben sandwich when an unexpected voice startled them both:

"Hello, Dean."

Sam fell off the full-sized motel bed in shock, and Dean started choking. He recovered quickly enough without help, spitting bits of corned beef and sauerkraut on the stained motel carpet. "What the Hell, Cas?" he scolded the forlorn Angel. "Ever thought about using a freaking door?"

"No."

Dean and Cas had a bit of a staring contest then, Dean's wildly irritated expression contrasting Castiel's blank one. "Well?" Dean demanded. After another moment, he added, "Can I help you?"

Even Cas could tell that Dean wasn't really offering his help with anything. "I have no need of your assistance."

"Uh-huh. Then why are you here? Just come to hang out?"

"No. There is something I need to get off my breast."

Dean blinked. "You mean your chest?"

Cas sighed, frustrated with mortal idioms; they never worked out right. "Yes, my chest."

Sam, who had long since gotten back on his bed, finally chimed in, "What's that, Cas?"

Cas gave the Sasquatch a barely-noticeable annoyed glare before re-leveling his creepy stare on Dean. "Perhaps we should speak in private?" he suggested.

Sam scoffed in indignation.

Dean turned and looked at his offended brother. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Sam."

Cas nodded. "Very well. Several weeks ago, I was reminded of one of the more... _unique _aspects of our relationship. One of which you may not be aware."

Dean immediately looked uncomfortable. "Look, Cas... it's okay."

Castiel cocked his head. "It is?"

"Yeah, of course," Dean reassured him with a cocky grin. "I mean, come on: I'm funny, I'm cute, I kick ass with a shotgun... it's perfectly normal to have a little man-crush."

"Dean-"

"And, you know," Dean interrupted, "I'm flattered. Really."

"Dean," Castiel tried a little more insistently.

"But I don't play for that team, man. Now, if I did, I'd totally hit that. But I don't."

"Dean," Cas finally got to explain, "I have not come to you today to confess to a 'man-crush.'"

Dean felt silly. "Oh." It was his turn to blink. "What _did_ you come to confess, then?"

"I own your soul."

"Seriously?"

Dean turned around to pause Dr. Sexy, then turned back to give Cas a look of confusion. "Is this one of those 'key to my heart' metaphors?" Dean wondered.

"I was not speaking metaphorically, Dean. I. Own. Your. Soul. It belongs to me. It's why you have my hand-print branded on your arm."

Dean's face fell in horror as he protectively covered his scar. "What? Give it back!"

"I can't," Cas swore regretfully.

"Why not?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Oh, it doesn't?" Dean mocked.

Cas gazed dejectedly at the ground.

Since Dean was busy fuming and Castiel was inconsolable, Sam tried speaking up again, hoping to be a calm voice of reason. "Cas, why do you own Dean's soul?"

Cas lifted his head again, but avoided eye-contact. "Because I raised him from perdition. It is written, _'He upon whom deliverance is granted from perdition shall henceforth be enthralled to the Grantor until his debt is repaid.'_"

Dean shook his head. "Okay, I didn't understand any of that."

"It's a lifedebt," Sam explained, his inner nerd clearly aroused by the chance to show off his encyclopedic knowledge.

"A what?" Dean asked.

"In some cultures, if someone saves your life, you have to be their slave until your debt is repaid. It's usually honor-bound instead of strictly enforced. It's why Chewie's always hangin' around Han Solo."

Dean was too irate to pay attention to that last bit of nerd lore. "Is that what you're trying to say?" he raged, rounding on Castiel. "That you dragged me out of Hell, and now you expect me to be your slave? I don't think so, buddy!"

"It's not like that, Dean," Cas promised. "I expect nothing from you. The fact is: I own your soul because I rescued you from Hell, regardless of how either of us feels about that situation, and I will continue to own it, and have all the privileges associated with owning it, until you have done something for me in turn."

"What privileges?" Sam questioned.

Cas looked even more uncomfortable than he had to date. "None that I would enforce."

"Cough it up, Cas!" Dean commanded. He hated the very idea of authority figures, and having someone 'own' you was about as much authority as there could be, but he had to know just how bad the situation was.

"Well, I don't need your permission to use you as a vessel, and I can read and control your thoughts and actions."

Okay, so it was worse than he thought.

"But like I said, I would not take advantage of my power over you. The fact that I own your soul should not impact your life in any way you'd notice."

"Then why are you telling me about it?"

"Because it will impact your afterlife. If you have not repaid your debt to me by the time you are dead for good, your soul will spend the rest of its existence following me around. It is not as bad as Hell, I hope, but nor is it Heaven, which is where I believe you'd spend the afterlife if you can earn your soul back."

"All I gotta do is repay the debt?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"How much is that?"

"It is not a matter of human currency, but of actions that equal the worth of raising someone from Hell."

Dean sputtered. "Wh- I can't repay that! There's nothing that valuable!"

"The value of actions varies from person to person, Dean."

"Fine. What can I do for you that would be worth as much as not spending eternity being tortured and mutilated?"

"Nothing I would ask of you."

Dean blinked, hopeful. "But there _is_ something."

Cas gulped. "Perhaps."

"Tell me!"

"I cannot," Cas cried, blushing.

Sam jumped in in an attempt to help his irked brother. "Cas, just tell him. Let him decide what's worse – having his soul owned by you, or whatever it is you can't seem to ask for."

Cas closed his eyes but acquiesced. "Remember when Dean thought I had come to confess... something else?"

"Yeah?"

"He wasn't incorrect in his assumption. I have been... enamored of him for a long time."

"Ha!" Dean shouted triumphantly. "I knew it! Wait... what?"

"You gotta sleep with Cas," Sam clarified for him.

"That is not what I want."

"Really?" Dean asked.

"I want something more meaningful, Dean, not just the right to tell people I'm not a virgin."

"You're a virgin?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Not now, Sammy. It's a long story." He focused back on Cas. "What do you want, Cas? Be specific."

"I want a kind of relationship with you. I know you said you don't bat for my team, but I want the opportunity to convince you that we could be happy together."

"So, what, you wanna be my boyfriend?"

"I think 'husband' is a more accurate term."

Dean gulped and contemplated his options.

"Dean, I don't want you to be miserable with me. You're my friend, and I want you to be happy. But I believe to my very core that you could be happy with me, and what I want is for you to give 'us' a chance."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

Cas frowned. "Maybe."

"Can I think about it?"

"Take all the time you need."

"Thanks."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not trying to coerce you into anything, but you should know that if I die while in possession of your soul, it, too, will die, and you will cease to exist."

Castiel disappeared without a goodbye.

"Great." _Freaking Angels._

"What're you gonna do?" Sam asked.

"I really don't like the idea of being owned, Sam," Dean bitched. "Good guy or not, he can pretty much make me do anything he wants. That sucks."

"So you're gonna date him?"

Dean sighed in defeat. "Yeah, I guess. He didn't say it had to work, right? Just that I made an effort? What's the worst that could happen?"

_

* * *

_

A/N: Please, review!


	2. Chapter 2

**A Brand on the Soul, Chapter 2**

_By CastielLovesDean_

* * *

Dean paced outside the resplendent New York City restaurant, feeling silly loitering in his FBI suit, and checked his text message the seventh time since Sam had dropped him off. _Gotham Bar and Grill. 7:00 pm. Formal dress._ "Gotham Bar and Grill?" he'd mocked Cas's text aloud in the motel room. "That's random. Why d'you think he picked that?"

Sam had merely shrugged and suggested with a straight face, "Maybe it's because you're Batman?"

Dean checked his watch. 6:58 pm. He glanced about the busy metropolitan street, hoping to see that familiar tan trench coat so he wouldn't have to enter the lavish establishment alone, but his luck was not that good. Though, come to think of it, when was it? He gave up and pushed through the contemporary double-doors, immediately overcome with a high-class atmosphere that clashed with the dirty, downtrodden name written in sparkly lights above the entrance.

At a nearby podium, a somewhat effeminate maître d' greeted him, "Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?"

Dean blinked, unsure. Would Cas know he should make a reservation at this kind of restaurant? Would he even know how? "I'm not sure," he admitted with a wry grin. "A friend told me to meet him here, and he can be a little scatterbrained when it comes to things like this."

The maître d' seemed unamused. "Name?"

"Dean Winchester," a familiar, gruff voice spoke up from behind him.

Dean turned around, happier than he would have expected at seeing the blue-eyed Angel. Before he could greet Castiel, however, the maître d' interrupted him, "Yes, sir, I have your reservation right here. May I take your coat, sir?"

Castiel seemed surprised by the question, but acquiesced quickly, sliding the tan coat off his shoulders and handing it to the maître d'. While the maître d' was busy hanging the coat, Dean stepped close to Cas to fix his shirt and tie, which were as askew as usual. "This place is really fancy, Cas," he pointed out. "You gotta keep your tie snug."

"But it's not comfortable."

Dean chuckled. "I know. Why d'you think I wear jeans and a t-shirt most of the time?" He finished tightening the tie. "Next time, maybe you should pick somewhere a little more casual." He stepped back to admire his handiwork and found himself surprised at how much more human Cas looked without the coat.

The maître d' came back then. "Right this way, gentlemen," he said, directing them toward their table. The table was all the way on the other side of the long room, and the entire walk made Dean feel like he was being presented to the room as someone on a gay date; he struggled to keep the blush from rising to his cheeks. "You know," the maître d' suggested with a wink as he handed them menus, "it's the twenty-first century; we don't have to call them our 'friends' anymore."

All Dean managed before the maître d' left was a strained smile and wordless nod. A little embarrassed by the exchange, he started to read his menu to silently himself without acknowledging Castiel. His head swam as he looked over all the strange cuisine. Littered with words like niçoise, foie gras, terrine, and risotto, the meals were a bit out of Dean's league, and he wasn't entirely confident that he'd be able to order dinner without looking like a complete idiot. At the very end of the menu, he struck a small bit of luck in a word he recognized: steak. _Jackpot!_ Of course, he'd rather have a bottle of A-1 instead of whatever bordelaise was, but steak was steak, right?

The waitress came, asking for their dinner orders. "We'll both have the New York steak, medium-rare," Cas requested without consulting Dean. Their eyes locked for a split second, then Cas added, "And we'd prefer steak sauce instead of the bordelaise, if you have it."

"We do," she said. "Would you prefer steak sauce, as well?" she asked Dean.

"Yeah." Once she'd finished taking the rest of their orders, Dean leaned forward, hissing, "Stay out of my head."

"I'm not in your 'head.'" Castiel misused air-quotes on 'head.'

"Then how'd you know what I wanted?"

"Steak is the only thing on this menu I've seen you eat, and I've only ever seen you eat it with steak sauce."

Dean was still a little paranoid, but he supposed that was a reasonable enough explanation. He dropped the subject – and most of the conversation, as well. Since Castiel was socially retarded and Dean's 'dating' vocabulary consisted entirely of cheesy pick-up lines, there wasn't any small talk. In fact, Dean had never spent so much downtime with Castiel before – even when they had the opportunity, Cas would fly off as soon as they no longer had anything imperative to discuss. The steaks, of course, were fantastic; Dean didn't even mind the fifty bucks a pop and twenty-dollar tip he had to put on Zoltan Wierl's credit card.

"This didn't go as I had imagined," Cas finally admitted when he teleported Dean back to his motel door.

"How'd you expect it to go?" Dean asked, loosening his tie.

"Well, according to the documentary, Sex and the City..." Cas started to explain, only to be cut off.

"Cas! That's not a documentary, that's a T.V. show. It's not real."

Cas frowned. "It's not?"

"No." Dean could tell that Cas was depressed and embarrassed by this, and tried to cheer him up a little. "Look, bad first dates are as normal as farts – I'm sure the next one'll go much better."

"I thought bad first dates didn't warrant second ones."

"Normally, that's true, but I said I'd make an effort, didn't I? One bad date isn't much of an effort. Next time, we'll just hang out, maybe watch a movie or some T.V."

Cas nodded in agreement, then they stood there awkwardly for a moment. "It's the end of our date," he pointed out soon enough, stepping forward. "Isn't it customary to kiss goodnight at the end of the date?"

Dean gulped anxiously and tried to step back out of Cas's personal space, only to find himself trapped against the motel door. "Sometimes," he told his clueless angel. "It depends on a lot of things."

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"You have no need to fear me."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You're cringing."

"No, I'm not."

"Then look at me."

Dean hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes, but when he opened them, his vision was completely filled with Castiel's face. As Castiel got even closer, Dean shut his eyes again, and his heart sped up. It surprised the Hunter that he couldn't quite tell if it was fear or excitement driving his heart. Just as Cas's lips were nearly upon his, and he could feel the Angel's breaths on his chin, Castiel spoke:

"I am not going to force upon you anything you do not want strictly for my own pleasure," he told the taller man. "My social skills my be rusty, but even I can tell that you are not yet ready to kiss me. Have a good night, Dean."

There was a flapping sound and a gust of wind, and when Dean opened his eyes this time, there was no sign of Castiel, only the sparse motel parking lot and his baby, parked badly across two spaces. Dean felt something like disappointment well up inside of him, but that couldn't be right, could it? Dean was straight, and he absolutely did not want to kiss Castiel. He kept telling himself that as he turned around and jiggled the rusty doorknob. The flapping sound returned, and he whipped back around with a little more gusto than he'd intended. He was shocked to see someone other than Cas standing behind him, but before he had the chance to react, there were two fingers on his forehead, and he was no longer at the motel.

As soon as he reappeared, he was overwhelmed with that familiar airsick feeling he got when flying, be it by plane or by Angel, and he stumbled and fell to the dark concrete floor. He popped right back up, still dizzy, to face his captor. He thought he must have been even more disoriented than he'd realized because he could have sworn he saw three of them. He blinked several times to try to put them back together, but as his vision cleared and his head swam less, the three identical figures morphed into three distinctly different figures; there were, in fact, three of them – presumably all Angels. "Who the Hell are you?" he demanded irately.

"You should speak to Angels of the Lord with more respect," warned the one who teleported him.

"Sorry pal, but I don't like people who kidnap me."

"Calm down," the Angel tried to console him. "We didn't bring you here to harm you."

"You followers of Raphael?"

The Angel smiled. "You're smarter than rumors give you credit for."

Dean glared and glanced around quickly. It was a barren metal-and-concrete room with a lone cot in one corner, some shackles hanging from the ceiling (which he wouldn't admit freaked him out), and a door on the opposite side of the room. Knowing it was foolish and that he could never outrun a divine creature capable of teleportation, he bolted for the door and heaved it open. What was behind it stopped him cold: there were knives, hooks, chains, various restraint and torture devices he hadn't seen together since his tenure in Hell. He staggered backwards, bumping into the Angel, and spun around, trying to suppress his panic. "If you don't plan to harm me, what's with the torture kit?"

The Angel chuckled. "I believe I said we didn't _bring you _here to harm you, not we don't _intend_ to harm you. If it helps, those are merely a precaution... in case you're... _uncooperative_." He grabbed Dean's arm and started pulling him across the room.

Dean weighed his options as he was led to the cot and forced to sit on it. His pride told him to fight, struggle, whatever he had to do to get away, and a few years earlier, he might have done just that. But trapped in a doorless concrete room with three bad Angels and a good one just a prayer away, he thought this might be one of those times that required patience. Unless his situation improved, he'd have to bide his time until he had a chance to escape or someone came to rescue him. It took every ounce of willpower in him to resist his instinct to fight, but he allowed the Angel to fasten his left wrist to the upper corner of the cot so that the only comfortable positions were lying down or sitting against the wall at the head of the bed.

"That's not so bad, is it?" the Angel asked condescendingly as he stepped out of Dean's reach.

"Are you gonna tell me what the Hell I'm doing here?" Dean groused. "And why you handcuffed me to a bed?" Dean wasn't sure he wanted that answered.

"The bed is merely for your comfort. Would you prefer to dangle from the ceiling by your wrists?" the Angel offered, gesturing to the shackles in the middle of the room.

Dean would not. "And I'm here because..." he hinted more insistently.

"We're waiting for Raphael."

Dean's hands went numb and his balls tried to climb back into his body. "Raphael," he repeated, trying to sound casual. "What does the Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel want with me?"

"You ask a lot of questions," the Angel declared with a frown. "There's a gag in that closet; do you think I need to get it?"

Dean growled but said nothing more. He leaned his head back until it rested against the concrete wall and closed his eyes, silently praying to Castiel to help him.

"That won't work," the Angel smirked cockily.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean told him, careful not to phrase it like a question.

"This room is prayer-proof. Castiel won't hear you."

_Damn it. _"I'm not praying," Dean lied. "I'm just resting my eyes." Dean knew the Angel didn't believe him for a second, but didn't care. Even with Cas out of the picture, he'd still have Sam and Bobby, and they were nothing to sneeze at. Nevertheless, Dean continued to pray to Castiel just in case the Angel was lying. After a long moment, Dean heard the flap of wings, and opened his eyes, hopeful that Cas had come.

He had not.

Instead of Castiel standing before him, it was Raphael, holding something circular and metallic covered in glowing blue runes. "Dean Winchester," Raphael greeted menacingly.

"Red turtle," Dean quipped.

Raphael cocked his head in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of Castiel, but with a dark, Darth Vader quality that chilled Dean to his core. The Archangel otherwise ignored his pop-culture reference and held up the object in his hand. "Hold still," he commanded.

Dean tensed and put out his hand with no intention of 'holding still,' but the two Angels who hadn't done a thing so far were on him in the blink of an eye. One of them held his right arm to his side, and the other had twisted his hand in Dean's hair, holding his head upright so that Raphael could easily put what turned out to be a collar around Dean's neck and seal it shut. As soon as it was secure, Dean felt an awful pins-and-needles sensation flood his entire body, and even as he curled up in pain, waiting for the ache to fade, he bitched, "What the Hell did you do to me?"

"It won't hurt for long," Raphael's voice promised through the haze. "This collar will prevent any Angel from removing you from the room without my permission. I know Castiel cares deeply for you, Dean, and I intend to use that to further my agenda in Heaven."

Dean was still tingling when the pain was gone, but he squelched the feeling. "And just how do I fit into your plan?" he wondered from inside his fetal position.

"Oh, it's very simple, Dean. I'm going to make a Deal with Castiel. If he swears to stop meddling in my affairs with regards to control of Heaven, I'll let you go instead of torturing you to death."

"Good luck with that," Dean challenged, even though he was terrified. "I spent forty years being tortured in Hell; I can take my share of pain."

Raphael's smile churned Dean's stomach. "I hoped you'd say that," the Archangel admitted ominously.

Dean tried to shrink away from Raphael's hand, but with his left wrist tethered to the cot, there was simply nowhere to go. In seconds, he was overwhelmed with an all-consuming anguish like nothing that he had ever experienced in Hell. He wasn't sure how many seconds, minutes, or hours the agony lasted, but when it stopped – just as swiftly as it started – he could hear the tormented echoes of a man's screams bouncing off the walls of his prison, and he was surprised to find himself curled up on his left side, facing the wall, his face and pillow wet with something Dean would deny were his tears. Even after he stopped screaming, he coughed to catch his elusive breath. "See?" he gasped. "Easy."

All four Angels laughed at him, then unceremoniously disappeared, leaving him alone and itchy in his nicest suit, wondering how Team Free Will was gonna get him out of this one.

_

* * *

_

A/N: This is not going to be a torture fic. By the end of the next chapter, all will be well. Please, review!


	3. Chapter 3

**A Brand on the Soul, Chapter 3**

_By CastielLovesDean_

_WARNING: Spoilers for season 6! This chapter was inspired by Cas's admission: "I'm at war. Certain... regrettable things are now required of me." Frankly, I find myself suspicious of him (even though I love him) thanks to that line. He probably just doesn't want Dean to know that he has to bone him in his sleep every night in order to keep his Grace charged. (No, I'm not going to make a story out of that, so don't even ask.) Also, Dean's a little OOC toward the end. Oops. My bad._

_A/N: Cas saves Dean._

* * *

Dean wasn't sure how many hours he'd been dangling by his wrists, but he knew that Cas would be there any minute now. It wasn't faith or trust or love... no, it was Raphael. The arrogant dick had told him exactly what to expect: to be beaten up, left to dangle for a while, then offered to Cas as a trade. He hated being a hostage – it was almost worse than being a clue.

The first part of Raphael's plan had gone off without a hitch, though he supposed he should be relieved that their goal was to bloody him up rather than maximize pain. So even though his face, torso, and fancy white button-up shirt were cut up and covered in blood, he felt okay. When the Ninja Turtle Club finally reappeared, Dean gargled something impolite through the gag 'Leonardo' had put on him. (What? Like he wasn't gonna mentally rename Raphael's followers, when one had orange hair, one had a blue suit, and the last had a purple tie? Come on!)

"That's not very nice, Dean," Raphael scolded condescendingly. "Your mother would roll over in her grave, had there been anything left of her to bury."

Dean gargled something else that was rude, earning himself a few grueling seconds of Raph's special torment. After the pain ended, and Dean was again aware of his surroundings, he saw that Cas had recently arrived. His Angel was staring at him with that damn indiscernible face, but turned to face Raphael once Dean had come to.

"You summoned me, Raphael," Castiel stated. "Why am I here?"

"Didn't you notice? I have your pet Human." Raphael dug a finger into one of Dean's exposed cuts for good measure, making the Hunter cringe.

Cas spared Dean another quick, unreadable glance before answering, "Dean is hardly my pet, Raphael. Have you summoned me here just to show off your captive?" He sounded angry, and Dean started expecting fisticuffs. Could Cas take on the entire Ninja Turtle Squad? Dean wasn't sure.

Raphael laughed at Castiel's barely-contained fury. "Not at all, Castiel. I want to offer you a trade."

"And what do you want that you think I have?"

"I want you to stop your blasphemous crusade against my attempts to restore things to the way they should be."

Cas raised an eyebrow and clenched his jaw. "You want me to trade the fate of the world for Dean's well-being? That's a steep price for a mud-monkey with a tarnished soul."

At first, Dean was shocked to hear those words coming from Castiel's mouth, the same Angel who had tried to kiss Dean just a few hours earlier. But then he realized how stupid he was being. After all, Cas was 'enamored of' him, wasn't he? He probably had a plan.

"Oh, but Castiel, Dean's not just any mud-monkey, is he?" Raphael taunted, ruffling Dean's messy hair. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you two go on a date last night?"

"You're wrong," Cas intoned flatly. "Dean Winchester is a skilled hunter and ally, nothing more. If you have nothing of import to discuss with me, I'll take my leave."

"What about our trade?"

Cas appraised Dean with what appeared to be cold neutrality. "Dean," he addressed him for the first time so far, "do you remember what I told you about the things required of me because of the war?"

_Regrettable things_, Cas's voice rang out in his memory. Dean nodded.

Cas turned back to Raphael. "Keep him," he offered apathetically, then vanished.

Dean really hoped he had a plan.

The Ninja Turtle Gang stood there, stunned, for several seconds after Cas left. Dean guessed that hadn't gone as planned. Raphael growled in irritation and took it out on Dean with an elbow to his gut. He paced angrily in front of Dean as Dean caught his breath, then disappeared with his minions.

Five seconds hadn't even passed before Dean was overcome by an intense, high-pitched ringing, and he found his consciousness engulfed in a turbulent vortex of heatless white fire, feeling as though it were precariously balanced upon a precipice a thousand miles high.

* * *

Cas had felt that something was terribly wrong almost as soon as Dean was taken. He'd gone back to the motel and grilled Sam for information, but the Sasquatch was woefully oblivious to his brother's disappearance, so Cas searched the world high and low for Dean until Raphael summoned him. Seeing Dean bloodied was something he was used to, and he could sense that Dean wasn't badly injured, so while Dean's condition pained Castiel, that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was that collar with the glowing blue runes Cas knew were designed to keep any random Angel from removing a human prisoner from captivity or entering his subconsciousness.

Luckily, Cas wasn't just any random Angel. Castiel figured that Raphael must not have known about his unusual bond with Dean, or he would have been better guarded.

He left quickly, returning only once Raphael and his followers had gone, since what he was about to do would be very dangerous in their presence. Without consulting Dean, not that he could because of that damn collar, he carefully entered Dean's body, curling up his Grace so that it would fit alongside Dean's soul. Once he was situated in Dean, the glowing blue runes fizzled and sparked, and the collar itself popped off his (Dean's) neck. You see, those runes don't work on Angels.

Cas removed the shackles with great haste, hoping that Raphael would not catch him while envesseled in Dean and trap him that way. With the shackles and collar on the floor, Castiel teleported back to the motel room Dean shared with his brother, and was immediately glomped.

"Dean!" Sam cried out. "I was so worried!" Sam pulled back, looked Cas in the face, and frowned. "What's the matter?"

"I'm not Dean," Cas answered in Dean's voice. "It was necessary to take your brother as a vessel in order to help him."

Sam's jaw dropped, and he let him go. "Cas? Is that you?"

"Not for long." He paused then, forlorn. "I know how Dean feels about being a vessel, and I fear he may never forgive me for this," he admitted to Sam. "I'm going to leave Dean with you while I return to my rightful vessel, then return to make sure he will not suffer lasting effects from his captivity." He healed Dean's body and vacated it, leaving Sam to catch it as Dean started to keel over, unconscious.

When Cas got back, Sam had only just gotten Dean on the bed and out of his stained, tattered shirt. Cas took the opportunity to appreciate Dean's physique before sitting beside him on the bed and waking him.

Dean bolted upright with a gasp and looked around. "Nnnh," he whined. "Jimmy wasn't kidding about being chained to a comet."

"I know," Sam agreed heavily, reminding everyone of the Lucifer fiasco and ruining Dean's attempt to lighten the situation. Emo bastard.

"Dean," Cas cut in, "how do you feel?"

Dean looked at Castiel. "Tired, dizzy, and sore."

"Are you in any pain?"

"No."

"Good." He stood to leave.

"Wait," Dean protested.

Cas apprehensively turned to face Dean. "Yes?"

Dean gingerly climbed out of bed to stand in front of Cas. He was going to say something, but lost the words. Instead, he slowly leaned forward and nervously planted a chaste kiss on Castiel's lips.

Cas smiled but asked, "What was that for?"

"For helping me." Dean shrugged. "Maybe I've watched Shrek one too many times, but I'm pretty sure when you save my ass, I'm supposed to kiss you."

"You've saved Sam several times, and I've never seen him kiss you."

Dean and Sam both cringed at the visual. "Yeah, that's not the same thing, Cas. It only applies to... I dunno..." He trailed off as he searched for the right phrase.

"Potential lovers?" Sam filled in unhelpfully.

"Thanks for that," Dean said sarcastically, getting an equally sarcastic salute from Sam in return.

"I thought you weren't ready to kiss me yet," Cas pointed out.

"You know, for someone who got his first ever kiss from, like, the best kisser on the planet," Dean ignored Sam's derisive snort, "you sure complain a lot."

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "Since I 'saved your ass,' am I limited to one kiss, or may I ask for another?"

"It's usually just the one, but that's really more of a guideline than a rule, so-" He was interrupted by Castiel's not-so-chaste kiss, the Angel's tongue probing insistently at Dean's lips. After only a moment's hesitation, he granted it admittance, opening his mouth and letting their tongues slide sensuously along one another, Castiel's hands roaming over Dean's naked torso in a way that was probably making Sam uncomfortable.

Speaking of Sam, Dean and Cas's second kiss was going smoothly until they heard a click from Sam's general direction, and they parted mouths to see what happened. He was holding up his cell phone (which was, incidentally, a camera phone) so that it was pointed at them. A split second later, he pressed a button, which made a 'beep' sound.

"Dude, what the Hell?" Dean demanded. Cas seemed unfazed, as usual.

"Oh, I was just sending Bobby a completely unrelated picture message," Sam lied.

"You're dead," Dean exclaimed, throwing himself at Sam. They wrestled for control for a minute, but Dean ended up on top, pinning Sam to the floor and stealing his cell phone. He tossed it to Castiel. "Here! Delete it, hurry!" He struggled to keep Sam subdued without actually harming him while Cas was messing with the phone. After a moment, he looked up to check on Cas's progress. Castiel was staring at the phone, not pressing any buttons. "What?" he asked.

Cas seemed startled. "Nothing, it's just taking a moment." He pressed more buttons, which seemed odd to Dean since it probably should only have taken, like, five buttons to load and delete the image. Finally, Cas set the phone down and announced, "I've deleted the image." There was a series of beeping from Castiel's pocket then, and Cas, who looked panicked, slowly put his hand in his pocket. The beeping stopped, and he took his hand back out, staring at the wall the whole time.

Sam shoved Dean off him onto the floor, but Dean didn't care. "Did you just send that picture to yourself?" he asked.

"I should go," Cas stated suddenly and disappeared, shaking the room in his wake.

Dean rolled his eyes at his perverted Angel as Bobby's private ringtone screeched from his phone. He answered it, knowing he had a lot to explain to his friend.

_

* * *

_

A/N: "Ninja Turtle Club" unrepentantly stolen from maximusx3. While I'm happy to take credit for it, it should probably go to her. ^_^

"_Raphael dug a finger into one of Dean's exposed cuts for good measure." - Lol, funny story: when I originally wrote that sentence, I had a typo that changed "cuts" to "buts," and when I reread it to myself I was like, "Ack! It's not that kind of story!"_

_For those of you wondering, yes, I made up the word "envesseled." It's similar to "vesseled."_


	4. Chapter 4

**A Brand on the Soul, Chapter 4**

_By CastielLovesDean_

_I'm hoping to complete this fic soon so that I can give you guys closure and focus more on Cas's Logical Sequel at the same time. Sorry it's shorter than I'd prefer._

_WARNING: Um... alcoholism? Standard warning for blasphemy applies as well. Also, it's shorter than I care for._

* * *

Dean wasn't always as smooth and cool as a polished river stone. Once upon a time, he was a perfectly normal(ish) teenager with anxieties about drinking beer and losing his virginity. Dean remembers that he was pretty drunk when he first had sex at fifteen with that surprisingly busty, surprisingly _slutty_ exchange student from Japan. It wasn't her first time by a long shot, and Dean was glad he wasn't too drunk to remember it. After that, most of his fears about sex were a distant memory, and he never needed to resort to alcohol to do it again.

He hoped it would work with Castiel. It wasn't his plan to 'go all the way' or anything, but a push in the right direction to help him overcome the whole 'he's not gay' thing couldn't possibly have gone wrong, right? He had it all planned out. Cas got to design their first failed date, so Dean got to design what would turn out to be their second failed date.

His first mistake of the night was buying two cases of beer. In his defense, he remembered that Cas needed to drink an entire liquor store to get drunk, and he wrongly assumed that Cas would have more than one beer and Dean wouldn't mindlessly reach for can after can after can.

His second mistake was underestimating how nervous he was. After he popped in the movie, he opened his first can and chugged it to calm his nerves. He had five beers before the main character even appeared on screen. Eventually, the pop-chug-crush-repeat cycle involved in drinking canned beverages then tossing them to the floor became routine, and by the final scene, he was wasted.

On the screen, two men and a woman faced a cheering crowd as the symphonic, inspiring music rose to a crescendo. The film's end credits rose against the speckled backdrop of deep space, and Dean turned off the TV, the only light left coming from the window through the cheap polyester curtains. He chugged from his beer can, crushed it in his hand, and threw it to the floor. "Any questions?" he slurred in the dark.

"Yes," Castiel answered. "Why did they wait so long to attack?"

Dean drunkenly rolled his heavy-lidded eyes. "Well, it took, like, _half an hour_ fer th' moon to rotate the plan't."

"I understand that," Cas insisted, not bothering to correct Dean. (Moons don't rotate planets; they revolve around them.) "But why did they wait? Couldn't they just blow up the planet, then immediately blow up the moon? Or just allow the force of the planet's destruction to destroy the moon, or allow the moon to go hurtling off its orbit, destroying all life on the moon? Furthermore, couldn't they have just moved the Death Star closer to the rebel base to blow it up, rather than giving the rebels time to escape or launch a counter attack? I don't understand how the person in charge could have seized control of an empire with his apparent lack of strategy."

Dean frowned, confused in his drunken stupor. "I don' think I'm 'splaining this right. Aks Sammy, he'll know. Sam!" He turned toward the other bed in the room. "Sam?"

"Dean, Sam isn't here, remember? He wanted to give us time alone?"

"Oh. Right." Dean giggled. "That w's silly 'f me."

Castiel frowned at Dean's speech disruption and took inventory of the empty beer cans littering the bed and floor, none of which were his. (He disposed of his own can properly.) Since being reconnected to the power of Heaven, his appetite for liquor had diminished significantly. Perhaps he only drank in the first place because he was sad about losing his Grace, or maybe he barely saw the point in drinking alcohol when he required an entire liquor store to get soused. Dean didn't have that problem. "Dean? Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, 'm pfine." Dean gulped audibly, swaying on the motel bed. "I c'n hold my liquor wit th' best of 'em."

"Far be it for me to suggest otherwise, but you've had a lot to drink."

"Shh. 'ts okay. I do this allllll – hic – the time." Dean was slouching closer and closer to Castiel. "Y'know, Cas..." he started.

"Yes, Dean?"

Dean blinked, then hiccuped. "Huh?"

Cas cocked his head. "What?"

"What what?" Hiccup.

"You were going to say something to me."

"Oh? Wha' waz – hic – that?"

"I don't know, Dean; I try to respect your privacy by not invading your thoughts. Besides, the last time I did... well, you think about sex a lot. I was a bit perturbed."

Dean burst into hiccupy laughter.

Castiel smiled cautiously. "What's so funny?"

"'Perturbed' 's a – hic – f'nny word," Dean laughed.

Cas frowned to himself. Perturbed wasn't a funny word. It was actually a bit disconcerting.

"Aww. Hic – Anyone e'er tell you you're – hic – cute when yer con – hic – fuzzled?"

Cas shook his head. "No."

"Well, you _are_." Dean hiccuped, then leaned in and kissed Cas on the lips. His plan had sorta worked: all hangups about having sex with Castiel were gone. He pushed Cas down onto the comforter and climbed atop him with more speed and grace than a drunken man should have been able to muster.

Cas protested weakly, explaining, "Dean, it would be misguided of us to have intercourse while you're intoxicated. I suspect you'll regret it tomorrow."

"Shhh-hhhh-hh!" Hiccup. Dean sloppily shushed Castiel with a finger on the Angel's lips. "We wouldn't wan – hic – wanna wake Sam. Now jus' hold still so I c'n – hic – ruffle yer feathers." Dean kissed Cas once more, then went completely slack as he passed out on top of his date.

"Dean?" Cas asked, giving the hunter's shoulder a light shake. No response. "Dean?" He tried a little harder, and Dean started making an unpleasant gurgling sound. It took a moment for Cas to realize what was going on, but he soon realized that Dean's body had tried and failed to expel the last of the alcohol he'd consumed to prevent further deterioration, and that his stomach contents had gotten backed up into his airway. Despite the fact that Castiel could heal pretty much any injury and even revive people who'd been dead for months, his vessel's heart skipped a beat at the knowledge that Dean was in danger. He swiftly removed the blockage – and the alcohol for good measure. Dean coughed and gasped. "Dean?" Cas repeated worriedly.

Dean winced at the steel-chains-in-a-garbage-disposal sound of Castiel's voice. "Yeah, Cas?" he whispered, wishing the pounding in his head would stop and somebody would turn off the damn sun.

Good. He was okay. Not that he was in any real danger of suffocating with an Angel in the room. Oh crap... Dean expected him to say something. The first thing he thought of was, "Do you still plan to 'ruffle my feathers?'"

Dean groaned. "What does that even mean?"

"I was hoping you knew."

"Well, maybe later, then. Now I just wanna sleep."

"Very well." Cas sent Dean into a peaceful, hangover-free sleep with two strategically-placed fingers, then carelessly rolled the unconscious hunter to the other side of the bed. He stood from the bed and called Sam on his cell phone. "Sam?"

"Hey, Cas. How's your date with Dean going?"

"Dean imbibed too much alcohol and fell asleep."

"Ah. Did you like the movie at least?"

"I did, but I have some questions Dean was unable to answer."

Historians would one day trace World War III back to this moment.

* * *

A/N: So when Dean finally ruffles Cas's feathers, how graphic do you want it? Because I'm both lazy and anxious to wrap this up, I'm tempted to just say, "They did it. The end." The problem is, that feels... "anticlimactic," if you will. Hehehehe. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

_Thanks to cracked-dot-com for the plot holes in Star Wars. If you didn't realize that was Star Wars... seriously, no one could possibly not have gotten that. Never mind._

_Also, "hiccupy" isn't a real word. I used it anyway. Deal with it._

_I'm not going anywhere with the WWIII comment, just so you know. This fic will end in one or two more chapters._


	5. Chapter 5

**A Brand on the Soul, Chapter 5**

_By CastielLovesDean_

_A/N: Finally! The last chapter! Because, really, it was about time I finished it, lol._

* * *

Dean and Castiel's entire third "date" was Sam and Bobby's plan.

First, Castiel took Dean back in time to see a Led Zeppelin concert at the peak of their greatness. Dean had only ever seen a concert on an old video tape using an older VCR connected to an antique motel television set. The concert was amazing. During the concert, Castiel teleported Dean backstage to meet the band. Dean nearly squealed like a fangirl, but gathered his cool before shaking hands with Led Zeppelin. He squealed after they left.

Time travel isn't easy, so they stayed in the past for a while so Castiel could regain some strength. In the meantime, they went sightseeing. They visited the twin towers in pre-9-11 New York City. They went to the movies and saw some of Dean's old favorites as they were just coming out. They went to the grand opening of a cozy little seaside shack in Delaware. Dean had the bacon cheeseburger. They inconspicuously dropped in on Bobby to see what he was like before his wife died; it was actually kind of boring.

Eventually, they found themselves strolling barefoot down an otherwise popular beach in the deserted moonlight. Dean never imagined how cathartic it could be to ramble on about his messed-up childhood to a sympathetic ear. He swore up and down he would never let his kids live like that.

"Do you still see yourself having children?" Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, I'm thirty-one years old. I kinda... I dunno... feel like... my biological clock is ticking? Does that sound stupid to you?"

"Yes."

Dean gasped in shock and a little offense. "What?"

"Yes, that sounds stupid to me. Dean, you're a virile young man. You have plenty of time to father children."

"I don't know about 'plenty.' I mean, I'm still running around hunting with my brother. How will I meet this person? What about my lifestyle would possibly make them think I'd be a decent dad?"

Castiel stopped them both and made sure to face Dean. "You'd be a wonderful father, Dean. Don't let anyone tell you different."

Dean squirmed in discomfort. He changed the subject. "So your battery about recharged, or what? Don't get me wrong, I'm having a great time. But I kinda miss Sam."

"That does not surprise me. You have a strong connection to your brother. Rest assured, we will return soon."

"Not too soon, I hope. It's a beautiful night."

"It is. Though, I still do not understand your fondness for sand between your toes. I find it... grainy."

"Well, maybe if you got sand somewhere else," Dean said suggestively, "it wouldn't feel so weird."

"I doubt it."

Dean sighed. "Sometimes you seem so human, I forget I have to be more straightforward with you." He pulled a large packet of lubricant out of his pocket and showed it to Castiel. "What I meant is a little sex on the beach might distract you from the feeling in your toes."

Castiel looked shocked. He stared fearfully at the packet like it was a weapon. "I didn't see you buy that. Where did you get it?"

"I nicked it from that last store we were in."

"You stole a packet of lubricant so you could have gay sex with an Angel in public?"

Dean blinked. That sounded so much worse out loud. "Um..."

Cas smiled shyly. "Is it wrong how much I enjoy it when you're being blasphemous?"

Dean grinned. "I take it you're up for a little blasphemy?"

"I'm always up for you, Dean."

Dean wondered if Castiel knew how dirty that was. Judging by the lusty look in Castiel's eyes, he did. Dean shivered. "Okay. Uh... take off your clothes."

Castiel shucked his trenchcoat. "On our last date, you said you wanted to 'ruffle my feathers.' Did you mean that?" He loosened his tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Uh, well, I was speaking metaphorically, Cas. You don't have any feathers."

"But I do." He slipped his shirt off, and in the blink of an eye, he was sporting two massive fluffy white wings.

Dean gaped at Castiel's wings. "Wow."

"Do you like them?"

Dean nodded inarticulately. "Yeah," he breathed. He stared wordlessly at Castiel's wings for a long time. Finally, he worked up the nerve to ask, "Can I touch them?"

"If you like."

Dean cautiously extended a hand toward Castiel's right wing. He flinched when he touched it at first, unsure of why he felt fearful. Soon, he felt brave enough to stroke the wing, and eventually he found himself petting them both outright. The moment he touched the base of the wing where the feathers turned to skin, Castiel enveloped him in a crushing embrace and kissed him with an intensity he hadn't felt before. He looked at his Angel's face; Castiel seemed on the verge of losing control. "Cas?"

Cas didn't open his eyes. "Dean, I'd like to have sex now."

"Okay, no need to be nervous. I'll make sure not to hurt you."

"No, Dean. _I'll_ make sure not to hurt _you_." Castiel flung them gently into the soft sand. They made love until Dean fell asleep from exhaustion. Cas watched him sleep the rest of the night.

When Dean woke up the next day in a shady hotel bed, he could tell right away he was back in the future. He felt like he had sand... _everywhere_... and he had a tickle in his throat. He coughed, and a small white feather floated down to his lap. His shoulder felt unpleasantly numb. He lifted his arm to get a better look. Castiel's handprint was gone.

"My mark is no longer there," Castiel announced mournfully from the corner of the room. "You are free of my debt. Your soul belongs to you."

Dean thought he should be more relieved, but he just felt apprehensive and cold. "What are you doing all the way over there? Come back to bed."

Castiel looked positively forlorn. "Perhaps I was unclear. I will always cherish the memory of what happened between us, but you are no longer obligated to date me. The debt has been repaid."

Dean felt panic well up inside him. "So... that's it? We have sex one time and you're dumping me?"

Cas looked horrified. "No! Dean, I love you."

"Then come back to bed," he begged.

"You... want to be with me?"

"Yes," Dean stressed, patting the empty spot on the bed next to him.

Cas blinked. "Very well." He walked to the bed, stripped down to his underwear, and lay woodenly next to Dean.

As soon as Cas was in bed, Dean snuggled up next to him. He wrapped himself around Castiel as if his Angel were also a pillow and fell back asleep. Castiel stroked Dean's hair and smiled.

* * *

_The End! Please review!_


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